Catalogue Connection: 25111

British pianist Jill Crossland, a pupil of Paul Badura-Skoda, recorded this recital 13-15 August 2010 and dedicates it to her young student Eli Mintz, who died tragically of cancer. She opens her program on the Fazioli instrument with Mozart’s last and unfinished fantasia from 1782, discovered by his sister Nannerl in 1807. Speculation has it that Mozart likely intended to splice this free-form piece to another form, perhaps a fugue. Most of the score lacks tempo indications, including its three cadenzas. Crossland grants the music emotional pathos despite its brevity, and she plays the D Major last bars – again likely spurious and added by August Eberhard Mueller – as though it were a grandly dramatic last act curtain.

The 1781 Mozart Variations on a French folk song (Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star)
certainly serve as a vehicle for varying touches and fingering techniques; the piece became a calling card for the late Clara Haskil. The score demonstrates much of Mozart’s own facility in sixteenths, eighths, triplets, syncopes, and the switching of hands. Variation 8 is marked minore and moves into C Minor and a chromatic line worthy of Bach. The more virtuosic variations easily compare to what Czerny and other artful imitators contrived for the keyboard but with considerably less invention. Just before the last variation, which sums up the entire enterprise, Mozart slows the process down to a static crawl and then catapults us forward with bravura flourishes, trills, and a hearty, Jovian good-humor.

Crossland’s Moonlight Sonata enjoys a weighty lyricism without undue distortion of the musical line, and the unsentimental approach reminds us that its exploitation of the arpeggio means to serve as a fantasia in chromatic coloration on repeated notes, both ostinato and melodic, at once. The Fazioli piano aids in the realization of the light banter that marks the Allegretto , what Liszt called “the flower between two abysses.” Crossland takes a ferocious delight in the final movement, Presto agitato , with its potent sforzando figures, abrupt, and then rushing headlong to take up arms against a sea of troubles. Crossland manages to elicit a kind of mad dance from the tempest, nervous and resolute.

The remainder of the Beethoven group derives from the composer’s 1825 Kleinigkeiten (Small Trifles), miniatures and condensed kernels of rhythmic or melodic cells quite capable of Beethoven’s explosive drama. No. 3 extends a slow melody in high register, set in triple time, which makes it kin with the Hammerklavier Sonata’s slow movement. The B Minor No. 4 ( Presto ) touches the same explosive nerves as does the Scherzo of the Ninth Symphony . Crossland attacks this Bagatelle with ardent energy, slashing and jabbing into the musical marble as well as a moment from Michelangelo’s terribilita . A more tender Beethoven emerges with No. 5 , a melodic idea, almost a ballad, ennobled by a folk sentiment. Bold strokes from Crossland begin the No. 6, but it immediately resolves into a series of lyric gestures, rather operatic, rounded by an Italianate flourish. The middle section, rife with ardent bass harmonies from Crossland, anticipates the water pieces in Liszt.

Crossland ends with three familiar Busoni transcriptions from Bach: Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme; Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland ; and Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ . Crossland avoids excessive “sublimity” in her realizations, choosing not to compete with Lipatti or Kempff for regal majesty of expression. Instead, these works, improvisatory in character, sing gloriously and fleetly over bass (organ) tones to emphasize their cantabile, stately and devotional directness of expression. Recording engineer Mike Hatch has provided a resonant sound-document for Crossland’s Fazioli, a balanced resonance between the salon and the concert hall.

It has been several years since I had the pleasure of reviewing Jill Crossland’s Signum recording of Bach’s ’48’, Book 1 (February 2008) and commented upon her ‘polished and compelling account’. This latest recording, made at St Paul’s Church, Deptford in 2010, makes use of a Fazioli and comprises music by Mozart, Beethoven and Bach-Busoni. Perhaps my perception, that there are slightly fewer recital discs these days in comparison to concept albums and single-composer recordings , is a little skewed, but in any case it makes a pleasant change to be hearing a nicely balanced programme of stalwart concert works: Mozart’s Fantasia in D minor, K397 and Variations on ‘Ah , vous dirai-je maman’, K265, Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight’ Sonata and Six Bagatelles, Op. 126, and three Bach-Busoni Chorale Preludes.

Crossland’s recordings have thus far concentrated on Baroque and Classical repertoire; indeed it is clear she expresses herself very ably within this broad milieu, possessing ample dexterity to pull off the natural brilliance and elegance of the music and consistently bringing to it a freshness of approach. Mozart’s Fantasia is a brief work, which, not unlike an onion, steadily reveals more of itself as it is unpeeled. Ying Chang, author of the booklet notes, alludes to Don Giovanni in summing up the operatic air of the piece, and within its bite-sized proportions Mozart certainly binds together sufficient musical material to sustain a couple of full-blown sonatas. The Fantasia, not unlike the Variations, is brightly coloured and dramatic in Crossland’s hands; with these two enchanting works she succeeds in giving the recording an immediate sense of purpose.

Crossland’s ‘Moonlight’ Sonata also demonstrates an easy engagement with the scenic backdrop to this most popular of Beethoven’s piano-sonata opening movements, Andante sostenuto. The dreamy vista of Lake Lucerne is evoked without any of the absurd pulling about one occasionally hears in live performances; that said, there are some interesting Romantic gestures to the performance. Throughout her interpretation the Sonata quasi una fantasia elements are permitted to trickle forward creatively – springing logically from the Mozart fantasia, in fact – and yet the sense of a coherent overview emerges sturdily too. I found much to enjoy within the symmetrical framework of the Allegretto also, while the Agitato finale is a reassuringly feisty and well-propelled account: brisk and crisp, for me it is the best playing on the disc.

The Bagatelles – all terrific pieces in their own right, composed late in Beethoven’s life – are hardly recognizable from the previous sets, steeped in emotional angst and yet strangely reconciled in their structural clarity. Crossland grapples boldly with the music’s continual tension and release, impetuousness and repose, and I especially warmed to the Andante, cantabile e grazioso, which contains playing of thoughtfulness and liquidity.

The final pieces, Busoni’s ambitious reworking of three of Bach’s splendid Chorale Preludes, originally conceived for organ, are extremely well projected. Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme (after BWV645) moves along unerringly with a luxurious tone and assiduous control of the contrapuntal texture, while Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland (after BWV659) is emblematic of Busoni’s modernist approach: it receives a Romantic yet carefully proportioned performance from Crossland. Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ (after BWV639) closes the recording enjoyably – a personal favourite, indeed; it reminds me of the touch control I admired so much in Crossland’s Bach ’48’ recording.

Crossland’s playing has a distinctive and driven quality to it, which certainly brings a good deal of zeal and excitement to her interpretations, though just occasionally I find the playing a fraction too high-spirited and inviting molecularly more space to breathe in the brisker music. The sound is quite ambient but kept well within tolerance for this repertoire.

Jill Crossland has a style that is soft, pensive and deep. This depth is not heavy but is quiet and airy. All the works recorded here are well known; still the disc is worth acquiring, for even though Crossland’s approach is not novel, it is rare among the “big names”. For me it resembles a calm evening when a mother reads to her child in bed. Don’t get me wrong: there is no languid sleepiness, and where the fire should burn it burns, but there are no Romantic excesses, no jagged lines and no rough surfaces. The acoustics are, regrettably, on the shallow side but one’s ears adjust quickly.

The album starts with Mozart’s dramatic Fantasy in D minor . Its simplicity and, at the same time, unconventionality go well with Crossland’s hushed seriousness. The reading does not sound subdued, it is expressive yet without pressure. The heavy tread of Doom may not be the scariest on the market, but the tired sadness and the despair, so untypical of Mozart, are believable. In the end the composer brushes away the tears and gives us his smile; the ending is as fresh and carefree as a summer morning.

I don’t count Ah vous dirai-je maman among the pinnacles of the variation art. Most of the variations do not go far from the original theme and more or less arrange it, as opposed to changing its elements as is done in the great sets of variations of the Three Bs. I’ve always found these variations too much of the same litter, all prestidigitation and bravura, and no performer can paper over that impression. Even here Crossland’s reading is genial and sunny. This is pure Mozart, elegant and upbeat.

The pianist brings in the magic of the opening movement of the Moonlight Sonata , which is soft and viscid. This is not a pretty comfortable moonlight; this night is full of expectation, brooding, waiting, all with tension of a compressed coil in its heart. The middle movement is lively and dynamic, like the happy skipping of an adolescent girl – still childish, already graceful. In the stormy finale all the right accents are in the right places, and although this may not be the most exciting performance of this movement, it is a faithful one. The reading is muscular, solid and a tad heavy.

Beethoven’s last set of Bagatelles fits Crossland’s style like a glove. The set sounds as a unified whole, a ‘sixpartite’ suite. Beethoven’s wisdom is spiced here and there with a grain of humour. The reading is soft and tender, balanced and intimate, with a lot of air and light. The slow pages glow while the fast ones are volatile. This is how I want my Bagatelles served.

The pianist wraps things up with three Bach-Busoni preludes. Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme gets a real organ-like sonority, due to the sparse and very low notes in the left hand. Like the tolling of huge bells, it has the majestic feeling of a dignified celebration. Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland in Busoni’s hands became a sad, tired dirge, long and grand, dark and brooding. Its steady stride mesmerizes. I found the result quite addictive on repetitive listening. The last in the set is Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ . It quietly rolls away and takes your sorrows with it, leaving the feeling of solemn serenity.

I have noticed that I have started putting this disc on more often that I would have expected. We all need somebody to tell us these evening tales, like the children who need to hear their parent’s voice: all is safe, all is good. I am sure that for each one of these works you can find more fancy and more thrilling interpretations but … I am also sure that I will not stack this disc too far away from the player.

Sir, the British pianist Jill Crossland gives us a programme here as tastily arranged as a cordon bleu menu, well thought out, delicately prepared and fresh. The two Mozarts are the starter, the Fantasia in D minor, quite explicit as fantasies go, a gentle unravelling and freeing of the taste buds, and a sweeping left hand scale executed with a flourish like a chef unveiling the dish of the day beneath a dishcloth. The sixteen variations on Ah vous dirai-je Maman, or Twinkle Twinkle, form an entree of many flavours, bitter in the minor, sweet in the episode with the doh-ti-la-ti-doh cadence.

The main course is Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, the adagio sostenuto glistening, moist and moreish, the dissonances piquant, the allegretto brief as seasoning and the presto agitato, alas, slightly overdone, rushed and lacking crispness.

The dessert is Beethoven’s Six Bagatelles, trifles played with wit and sparkle. They are timed beautifully, neither too raw nor too rich. The fresh finale is a sequence of three Christmassy Bach-Busoni chorale preludes, including Wachet auf (wake up! the bridegroom is on his way). Crossland ensures the grandeur of the melody is not rushed to pay the bill, but is allowed to mellow respectfully.

It’s a most satisfying disc. I’d give it as a gift to one hungry for michelin-star playing of classic recipes.

Crossland is one of a small group of younger pianists to make their mark in Europe and the USA. Her interpretations reflect deep thought and superb technique. She never imposes herself on the composers’ intention. Listen to the Moonlight Sonata – she conveys movingly the sense of loss in the adagio, reflection in the allegretto and uninhibited power in the storm of the finale, one of the most demanding in the repertoire.

Her playing of the other three works is also excellent, conveying real sensitivity to the mood of each Bagatelle, the joy of the Chorale preludes (so loved by choristers), and the underlying depth in the Fantasia and Variations. Four and a half stars out of five.

The Yorkshire-born pianist Jill Crossland has well-received recordings of the complete Well-Tempered Clavier and Goldberg Variations, as well as a Rameau disc to her credit. Here, she offers a compilation of familiar, well-loved pieces. Never mind that most of the selections are warhorses; Crossland’s straightforward interpretations usually capture the essence of each piece, with textural clarity, careful rhythm, and sensitive melodic shaping.

She shows particular sympathy for Mozart. The vitality of the accompaniment figures and the energy in her playing of the Fantasia’s faster sections renewed my interest in the work, a standard student assignment. The Variations on Ah vous dirai-je maman (Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star) isn’t actually performed by students as often as one might think, due to the work’s technical demands. Crossland gives it a sparkling performance, with commendable left hand energy in the sixth varia­tion and the Finale.

Her playing of the first movement of the “Moonlight” Sonata is less atmospheric and more Bachian than usual, with the melody’s triplet accompaniment taking on contrapuntal interest. The brief second movement that Liszt called a “flower between two abysses” sounds sprightly, lacking mystery, but Crossland comes into her own in the Finale, in a tempestuous, technically dazzling performance that ranks with the very best.

Beethoven’s op. 126 Bagatelles, a precursor of the spirit of Schumann’s sets of small pieces, receives a pleasingly unaffected reading, notable for Crossland’s careful inflection of melodic lines. Three Bach-Busoni chorale preludes conclude the program. Wachet auf sounds a little hasty once the chorale tune appears, with needless non-legato articulation. Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland builds to become a big emotional statement, and Ich ruf zu dir is suitably somber. Dinu Lipatti’s famous, quietly contemplative recordings of the latter two have finer differentiation of voices and more con­trolled legato playing.

I have two overall criticisms of this generally rewarding disc. The first —subjective, and not very important—is that the program seems arbitrarily assembled, and the order of the pieces doesn’t make a particularly inviting listening sequence. The second has to do with Divine Art’s sound. The piano has a pleasing, full sonority within a dry acoustic that suggests overly close miking. As a result, the volume at quieter moments in the music seems very close to that of louder sections. I noticed the lack of clear dynamic contrasts while listening to the Bagatelles, which need them. Otherwise, there’s much to enjoy in Crossland’s sincere interpretations and adept playing.